If Mrs. Greene was distressed by her son's engagement she concealed
it perfectly after the first moment, when, opening the door of
Geoffrey's bedroom, she was affronted by the sight of a young woman
almost a stranger to her, sitting on the floor beside Geoffrey's bed,
one arm round his neck, a long leg sprawling, her little green hat
tossed on the hearthrug.
As Edith Greene stood in the doorway her thoughts were bitter, her
expression bleak; but with undeniable gallantry she bowed to the
inevitable, twisted her face into a semblance of happy surprise, and
coming forward took Helen's hand as she scrambled to her feet.
"My dears," she said, "this is very unexpected. I didn't even know
you knew Miss Guest, Geoffrey, but I mustn't call you Miss Guest any
longer; it's Helen, isn't it, dear?" She smiled kindly, sat down on
the edge of Geoffrey's bed and said: "Now tell me all about it."
It was a magnificent recovery. Geoffrey looked guilty and miserable,
but Helen was filled with admiration. She stood up tall and
unembarrassed, and leaning against the mantel-piece explained the
situation in her quiet voice.
"We really owe you an apology, Mrs. Greene. Of course you must think
it quite unseemly for me to be here like this, when I've never been
in your house before, but everything has happened very suddenly.
It's even been a surprise to us, hasn't it, darling?"
She turned to Geoffrey, and Mrs. Greene's start of annoyance at the
last word was unnoticed.
"Geoffrey asked me to marry him a long time ago," she went on. "I
wouldn't for several reasons, chiefly my work. Then only to-day I
suddenly changed my mind and came to tell him so; at least Lavinia
brought me."
"You actually proposed to Helen a long time ago, Geoffrey dear, and
yet you've never mentioned her name to me?"
The playful reproach in Mrs. Greene's voice hid successfully the
raging resentment in her heart, but before Geoffrey could answer,
Helen broke in:
"That was entirely my fault. I felt so uncertain and wretched that
the whole thing had to be kept absolutely private."
"Even from Geoffrey's mother," asked Mrs. Greene gently.
In the fading light Helen's young face looked stern, but she, too,
spoke gently.
"Yes, even from you, I'm afraid. It was so vitally important to both
of us that whichever way it had turned, whether we decided to marry
or not to marry, we simply couldn't afford to let in any outside
influence."
"I see," said Mrs. Greene slowly. "I've never really thought of
myself as 'an outside influence.' My one desire has always been for
my children's happiness. That's what comes first with me and always
will. Geoffrey knows that; you'll learn it too, dear."
Geoffrey had caught the undertone of acidity that betrayed her real
feelings, and he made an effort to placate her.
"You really are amazing, Mother," he said. "I know it must be a
shock to you, but as Helen says, it's a shock to us too."
She bent and kissed him.
"My dear Geoffrey," she said, "I'm sure time will prove it to be a
pleasant shock, not the reverse; I'm only too glad to have another
little daughter."
Geoffrey grinned and said tactlessly:
"Not really a little one, Mother; Helen's quite a bit taller than you
are."
Mrs. Greene's armour cracked.
"Don't be silly," she said sharply. "You know quite well I wasn't
referring to her size."
Putting a hand on his brow she regained her poise.
"You're quite tired out," she said. "_Such_ a hot head. Now, Helen,
I'm only going to give you five minutes and then you must come
downstairs and let Geoffrey rest. Come to the drawing-room, will
you, and have a little chat before you go?"
"Thank you, I will," said Helen opening the door for Mrs. Greene who
turned her head to smile tenderly at Geoffrey, gave Helen's shoulder
a little pat, sighed, and left the room.